Page 24 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
DARCY
I saw Miss Elizabeth only sparingly over the next two days and had little opportunity for private conversation.
She devoted nearly all her time to Miss Bennet, who had worsened since that first day and now seemed to require constant care.
Miss Elizabeth joined us for the evening meal out of courtesy, but if she came down for breakfast, I never saw her.
She only rarely appeared at tea or during any other time during the day, preferring to keep close to her sister.
On the third day of her stay, her mother arrived at Netherfield just after noon, accompanied by the youngest Miss Bennets.
Elizabeth had written to her that morning, requesting she come and judge Jane’s condition for herself.
I happened to encounter her in the passageway as she stepped out to ask a footman whether she might once again borrow my writing supplies.
Not only did I provide them without hesitation, but I also instructed one of my own footmen to deliver the note to Longbourn directly.
Apparently satisfied that her eldest daughter was not on the verge of death, Mrs. Bennet and her daughters soon joined the rest of the party who were gathered in the drawing room .
“How did you find Miss Bennet?” Bingley asked warmly once everyone was seated with tea in hand. He made a deliberate effort to compensate for Miss Bingley’s barely concealed disdain for the visitors.
I had once again been subjected to her complaints earlier in the day—her outrage at the family’s “presumption” in arriving uninvited and her scorn for what she perceived as their lack of refinement.
She failed to grasp that customs in the country differed from those in town and that it was entirely customary for neighbours to call upon newcomers.
That she had not returned any visits reflected poorly not on them, but on herself—and, to some extent, on her brother.
“She is still very ill and in too great a danger to be moved at present,” Mrs. Bennet declared with an air of importance. “I am afraid we must trespass upon your hospitality a little longer.”
“Of course, she must not be moved,” Bingley cried. “My sisters and I would not hear of her removal. Miss Elizabeth is caring for her most diligently, and I pray that she will soon recover.”
Mrs. Bennet offered an enthusiastic stream of praise for Mr. Bingley’s kindness before turning her attention to the house itself, particularly the room in which we were seated.
Her compliments bordered on fulsome, and not a single object seemed to have escaped her notice.
I let most of it wash over me, choosing instead to focus my attention on Miss Elizabeth.
She appeared a little pale, her expression drawn, which was hardly surprising after several days devoted to her sister’s care.
The faint smudges beneath her eyes and the subtle tension in her brow betrayed what her bearing tried to conceal—she was tired, worn thin by worry and lack of rest. I doubted she had slept more than a few hours each night since Miss Bennet had fallen ill, and yet she remained composed, her posture still poised, her movements still marked by that natural elegance I had come to admire.
Even in fatigue, she carried herself with a quiet strength.
Not once had I heard her complain about caring for her sister, and I judged her to be the sort of woman who would not.
I found myself watching her more closely than was perhaps proper, noting the way she pressed her lips together when her mother spoke too freely, the way her gaze dropped for a moment when Miss Bingley aimed one of her thinly veiled barbs.
Her restraint, her ability to maintain civility when others seemed determined to provoke discomfort, was admirable.
For several moments, I ignored the conversation around me as I wondered whether I might persuade her to take a walk in the gardens with me later that afternoon.
It need not be a long walk, just a few minutes away from the sickroom and the drawing room alike.
A short time in the crisp autumn air, amongst the still-green hedges and the fading roses, might revive her spirit…
and allow me a moment to speak to her without interruption, something I had missed more than I cared to admit.
I was still entertaining the idea when Miss Bingley’s voice cut into the room with that particular tone I had learnt to dread—sweet on the surface but laced with malice.
“It is most fortunate,” she said, her words sounding syrupy and false to my ears, “that Miss Bennet took ill in a house so accommodating. Not every hostess would know how to manage such…unexpected guests.”
I turned my head sharply, the jealousy and anger in her tone unmistakable. Mrs. Bennet, however, appeared oblivious to the undertones in her words, and she simpered in return.
“Oh, yes, we are so grateful. I told my husband only yesterday how lucky we are that Jane happened to fall ill in such a fine household. Why, it may even turn out to be providential!” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed with a sly glance at Bingley.
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened at the implication, and her eyes flicked briefly towards me, as though gauging my reaction to the comment.
“I am sure you are,” she replied coolly. “I cannot imagine a more convenient arrangement. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elizabeth’s lips press together, and I imagined she was stifling a retort. I could not blame her. The insult had been veiled, but only just.
Before Miss Bingley could press her advantage, I spoke.
“Miss Bennet’s illness is unfortunate, but it is no burden,” I said evenly, my tone cool but firm.
“Any household that values decency would extend aid to a guest in such a condition. And, in truth, Miss Elizabeth’s presence has spared the household much trouble.
She has been entirely devoted to her sister’s care. ”
A brief but unmistakable silence followed. Miss Bingley’s expression tightened, her lips pressing together before she forced a brittle laugh.
“You are always so noble, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a saccharine smile, “and so very inclined to see virtue in the most ordinary of actions.”
I did not dignify her remark with a response. My thoughts had already turned back to Elizabeth—and the way her eyes had flicked towards me after hearing my praise, wide with something like surprise. Or was it gratitude? Whatever it was, I was even more determined to speak to her.
The conversation soon drifted to safer topics, with Miss Elizabeth asking her mother about various neighbours and recent happenings in the area.
Apparently, the party from Netherfield had unknowingly missed yet another gathering within the community, and I listened as Bingley expressed his regret at not attending.
Just then, Miss Lydia—barely containing her eagerness—spoke up.
“Mr. Bingley, did I not hear you mention that you intended to host a ball here at Netherfield? I recall someone saying there was a rather grand ballroom here, and I am sure the neighbourhood would be delighted to see it. And now that the militia are in Meryton, there will be more than enough partners for dancing—no one will have to sit out,” she added with a glance at her elder sister.
Miss Elizabeth offered her sister a small nod of encouragement, clearly pleased Lydia had managed to temper her tone.
The question, though perhaps a touch forward, was not entirely improper—especially considering Bingley and I had spoken of one recently and that others had teased Bingley about a similar endeavour at another gathering.
“Indeed, Miss Lydia,” Bingley replied cheerfully. “We were just discussing it the other day. Once your sister is well enough to attend, you may name the day.”
Lydia clapped her hands in youthful delight, her enthusiasm as infectious as it was unguarded.
I found myself smiling indulgently. Her energy reminded me somewhat of Georgiana, and I could not help but wonder—for perhaps the third or fourth time—whether I ought to revise my plans.
Rather than return to Pemberley and spend Christmas with her there, as we had originally planned, perhaps I should invite her here instead.
Some time amongst young ladies her own age might be of benefit to her.
But the thought had barely formed when Miss Bingley’s voice cut through it like a cold wind.
“Really, Charles,” she said sharply. “You expect me to arrange a ball on such short notice? It would be nearly impossible in a place like this.”
“Not at all, Miss Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet interjected with a practised smile, sniffing a little as she recognised the lady’s slight of the neighbourhood.
“The troupe of musicians who played for the last assembly are easily engaged, and we are near enough to London that anything you cannot procure locally can be ordered in good time. I am certain, should you need it, that I could be of assistance. And so could Lady Lucas, Mrs. Goulding, or any number of ladies in Meryton.”
Miss Bingley’s expression soured, but it was clear she had been outmanoeuvred.
With a tight smile that barely concealed her irritation, Miss Bingley offered Mrs. Bennet a clipped word of thanks, then cast a pointed glance at her sister—one that spoke volumes.
If Mrs. Bennet noticed, she gave no sign, but I had no doubt that everyone else in the room—save perhaps Bingley himself—caught the meaning behind the exchange .
Thankfully, the visit soon came to an end.
As Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters departed, I found a moment to speak with Miss Elizabeth alone.
“When Miss Bennet naps later, perhaps you could send word to me, and I could escort you for a walk in the gardens,” I suggested.
Her smile at my suggestion made me nearly ready to propose on the spot. But I could not yet; I knew that, since I had given Miss Elizabeth no indication of my desire to spend the rest of my life with her.